


good for her/good for him

by icedteainthebag



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6134419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His sweater is balled up in her fists where grey meets black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	good for her/good for him

**Author's Note:**

> post-kimmel/post-premiere gillovny trash.

_good for her_

His sweater is balled up in her fists where grey meets black.

On her hotel bed, he’s still in his sweater and his grey boxer briefs and she’s dry humping the fuck out of him, dressed only in a diaphanous silk thong, just a little something she picked up at Stella McCartney.

Topless, her breasts move in rhythm with her rolling hips until he firmly claims them with his hands, the hands that were all over her on that couch in front of millions of people.

David getting her to let her guard down is their foreplay.

The one thing she’s resolved about this man above all else in their tricky two years of this “fuck when you’re in town” arrangement is that he brings her back into orbit. Most of the time she feels so elevated, so wound up that she can barely relate to anyone or anything. Exhausted, she constantly says the wrong things (sometimes on purpose) and laughs at the wrong times and forgets, sometimes, what all of this is for. But he brings her back. He validates her. He teases her until she can’t breathe, laughing.

He teases her until she can’t breathe, clit tingling, flesh coming alive under his fingers.

“Look at you go,” he says, awe in his voice as one hand firmly clasps her hip.

“I need it,” she breathes.

“I know.” He thrusts up against her, the friction between them nearly unbearable, a seductive line between pleasure and pain as her arousal builds. She can’t wait to run her tongue down the hard muscles of his stomach. But not yet, not yet.

She’s so keyed up she’s going to come from this, from the slide of her wet, swollen folds against the fabric thinly covering that which she covets the most.

Second place is his tongue. He tongue-fucks nearly as well.

She makes small sounds for him, soft whimpers, but cries out when his palm slaps her ass, a motivational spank to keep her going. Go harder, go further.

“You know I like that,” he growls. He spanks her again and with this feral cry she feels herself starting to come, her hair in her face as she leans over grab his shoulders for leverage. Grind, spark, grind, spark. She only comes like this with him—loud, hard, nearly violent the first time, followed by a roller coaster of pleasure spikes that he rides out with a quiet smile.

The man knows when to shut up. She’s taught him well.  
-  


_good for him_

Gilly used to make an animal out of him early on. She would drive him wild with late-night sexts and descriptions of the new toys she was going to try on herself, let him try on her, or try on him. When they finally met up, surprises in their suitcases, those were the longest nights of his life and they’d sleep through the days with bottled water and fruit on the nightstand, standing by for refreshment.

Now, she relaxes him, her easy laughter and her glances heavy with meaning. The way she drawls his full name when she’s being obnoxious and is tired of shit press duties. The way she settles into his body and holds his hand with both of hers. He sheds the pressure when he’s with her because he can truly be himself.

He’d asked her if she was ready, his hard cock brushing the small of her back, his sensitive skin screaming back at him to take action. He knew she was ready, slickened and loosened up by his fingers while he worked his clit with her tongue until she was begging him to give her a right good fucking.

But he waited for her hum of approval, for the invitational lift of her hips and spread of her legs.

“You got that pillow handy?” His body almost shamefully encompasses her small frame underneath him, and he does feel bad. So bad.

But she’s so good.

She turns her head to the side and playfully bites the corner of it, hair over one eye. “Mhmmm.”

He slides into her tight ass, so slow, so careful. The pillow falls from her mouth when she exhales, fingernails tensing on the soft sheets of the bed. This isn’t frenzied, pace-setting sex; it’s languid, feel-every-inch-of-her sex, feel every quiver of her body, hear every low growl in the back of her throat. Sex where he finds every inch of her aging perfection under his palms and claims it as his own, as long as she’ll let him.

He holds off as long as he can.


End file.
